


Finding Warmth

by Catminty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Breastfeeding, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mech Preg, Post-War, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:23:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catminty/pseuds/Catminty
Summary: Existence didn't end after the remaining Autobot forces suffered their final defeat. Time crawled forward. The Decepticons happily continued their campaign while replenishing their world in whatever way necessary.Somewhere in between, Sunstreaker tries to find his place.





	Finding Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I've found that chapter fics tend to slip out of my grasp easier than sand! So let's try an angsty, fluffy one-shot, shall we?
> 
> Please heed the tags. While nothing super explicit happens besides breastfeeding, there are mentions of some nasty topics. 
> 
> Unnamed Decepticon is unnamed. You can imagine whoever you like!

Thick cotton curtains parted to allow a wash of sunlight to highlight his golden finish. Blue optics winced, unprepared in spite of the mech's act of opening the curtains. The city below was already busy with mechs on the move.

Delicate pottery slid smoothly around on the counter as Sunstreaker prepared his morning fuel. Fifteen jars held varying quantities of crushed metals and minerals. A scoop here, a pinch there. Each vessel was slid back to its place when it was no longer needed.

A rubber-lined lid was secured over the steel cup, then the container was slipped into Sunstreaker's polyester bag. Another of plain energon slid in alongside the first.

Nodding to himself, Sunstreaker grabbed the bag and headed out the door.

It was still weird taking that first step outside onto Cybertronian streets. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to the new sun their planet circled, the imported materials that grew more and more common, or the varying slave species running around underfoot.

The sidewalks were wide to allow the numerous hulking frames through without any need for shoving. A few sets of red optics admired his curved, shining frame as he passed, but none made any move to bother him. He wasn't their toy.

No, he had other uses in the Decepticon empire. The blue starburst emblems on his upper arms kept away even the nastiest criminal.

Sunstreaker made it safely to the gym as he usually did. He began his daily routine. Start with stretching. Light weight lifting woke up his joints. Jogging around the track a few times got his frame going for the real exercise. He ignored the few creeps that followed a short distance behind him.

After that, kickboxing. There was usually a mech or two willing to take a few blows through protective pads. If not, the reinforced sandbag did just fine.

He wanted to fight someone in a real throwdown. But he couldn't, not in his condition.

A quick shower in the gym got rid of the grime and condensation. His curvy body flexed beneath the spray of one of the multi-headed poles. There were no stalls. If someone wanted to watch, he couldn't stop them.

Touching, however, was strictly off limits. It had been shortly after his emblems had been affixed, just after it was confirmed how delicate his frame type was for its job, that this rule was tested. A mech with an under clocked processor brushed into him in the shower and grabbed a handful of aft. Sunstreaker bristled in outrage. But before he could attack, a bigger, meaner looking Decepticon decked the mech clear across the shower room. Two others dog piled and beat the slag out of him.

Why would Cons protect an Autobot? Because carriers had insanely weak constitutions.

Decepticons by majority did not carry. Most couldn't due to medical sterilization during the war. A carrying mech couldn't fight. That left the few neutrals that returned and the losers of the war, the enslaved Autobots, as the future of their race.

Forced carrying was about as safe as a hand grenade in a bar fight. There were more than a few casualties before the process was explicitly and unquestionably outlawed with capital punishment as the looming threat to offenders. Assaults could, and usually did, result in the loss of any sparkling carried.

Their people had horrifyingly low numbers. If they were ever going to grow to a defensible planet again, they needed the carriers to safely conceive. And quickly. Those that were willing were given special status and a livable income.

Most of the Autobots fought against it. They stayed locked up in miserable cells for their efforts.

Sunstreaker sure as the Pit wasn't staying in a cell.

But there was strangeness to his role in the new world. Carrying was terrifying at first. If he couldn't do it, he'd be thrown back into the cells or be dedicated to...other tasks. A few non carriers got steady jobs selling their smaller frames to hungry customers looking for a lay.

In the end, it worked out. He created good, strong sparklings. Quite a few of the frontliner Cons were interested in his brawler genetics from first hand experience.

But he never expected to be propositioned in other ways.

"You want to...what?"

There was no way he heard that correctly. Mechs did not ask for such a thing.

It was taboo. Even the Decepticon standing in front of him knew this. Still, the mech adjusted his stance and tried again.

"You already sell it. It's not that much of a stretch to offer it from the source."

Sunstreaker blinked slowly. It was hard to process. Sure, he sold his excess...byproduct...to a middle mech. But he assumed it went to fussy younglings who needed a little help weaning. He didn't think grown mechs actually drank–

"I'll give you–" The mech jerked into motion to grab a pad from the table. Sunstreaker flinched back, covering his chest. Wincing, the mech scribbled down something on the pad of paper and offered it to Sunstreaker.

He waited a moment before hesitantly outstretching one hand to take it. He then proceeded to stare blindly at the number scrawled out.

That was... more than ten times what he could sell it for on a good day.

"All this? Just for enriched energon?"

The mech nodded once. Sunstreaker looked back down at the paper, but his optics caught on the way the mech wrung his hands. They quickly moved to the mech's side when he recognized the nervous tick.

"Just fueling from the source. Nothing else. Nothing weird." The Con must have realized the odd choice of words, and he finished lamely, "...er. Nothing weirder."

Sunstreaker's lips flattened to a thin line. This was such a freaky request. Sure, he was actively producing fuel for the sparkling growing in his belly. But...to have a grown mech – a big con, no less – request to suckle from him?

It was weird. But that amount of money was more than a little enticing. And draining his pouches was something he had to do at some point today regardless of how he did it.

Fraggit.

"First off," Sunstreaker started, hands on hips. "This is a one time thing." The mech perked up, a grin splitting his face.

"Second, you tell no one. Sure, I'm selling this slag to you, you're not special. I'd be selling it anyway. If you so much as breathe a word of this, I'll drag you AND your name through this entire city.

"THIRD!" Sunstreaker stepped into the Con's personal space, jabbing a finger in his face. Then he pointed to the slight round of his belly. "No funny business!" Already the mech was nodding enthusiastically.

Frigging freak.

Before Sunstreaker could make his demands for payment first, the mech slapped the credits on the table. Sunstreaker's optics went wide at the sheer size of the pile. Meanwhile, the mech reiterated, "One time thing. This doesn't leave the room. No funny business. Promise!"

Sunstreaker cringed, then nodded. Ugh. It was a one-time thing for a little extra cash. What Autobot hadn't done something similar since the Decepticons won? Selling your frame wasn't a new concept.

Shaking his helm, Sunstreaker pocketed the credits and looked around his apartment for a place to get this over with. This Con was big, more than two helms taller than Sunstreaker. It wasn't like he could cradle him like a sparkling, for pits sake.

An old memory flashed. One of his first sparklings was having trouble switching custody with his sire. The youngling was too big to cradle, but they worked something out.

Side-eyeing the Con, he stomped to his couch and threw a cushion on the floor. The soft loveseat was way too small to fit them both, but it served as a fine backrest for Sunstreaker. He glared up at the big mech and patted his lap stiffly.

The mech nodded and laid down on the floor perpendicular to Sunstreaker with his helm on golden thighs. He was warm, Sunstreaker noted bitterly. Probably from the shame of asking for something like this.

Yellow chest plating folded back to expose heavy pouches partially filled with enriched energon. The cold air of the room hitting his sensitive parts made Sunstreaker shiver. His active carrier coding flared to life at the prospect of fueling a potential sparkling. Slowly, the pouches began filling further, visibly swelling in the open air.

On his lap, the mech's optics brightened. He leaned up awkwardly and placed a gentle kiss on the underside of one full pouch. Sunstreaker choked.

...and then slammed a fist on the Con's chest with a satisfying clunk. "No fragging funny business!"

The mech put his hands up in surrender. His helm was half covered by the pouches. "Sorry, sorry!" Freak. "Er. Let me just..."

Again, he leaned up awkwardly. But this time the mech carefully closed his lips around a perky nub. His tongue, warm and wet, swept along the bottom of his hold. The pull was soft, the suckling gentle. All too soon the mech swallowed his first gulp. Sunstreaker's optics flared at the funny feeling in his tank.

Ugh. He didn't know what to do with his hands. They hovered awkwardly over the Con. He wanted to cross his arms and ignore the situation, but...the pervert was in the way.

It was...weird. This stupid, idiot, grown aft mech approached him randomly, offered to pay an absorbent amount to...to lay on his cold floor and suckle like a newspark.

Meanwhile, Sunstreaker not only let this mech in his home, but he also accepted the credits and actually let the mech live out his fragged up, worthless, shameful fantasy.

Fans whirred softly in the quiet room. The mechs optics were dim, narrow slits. He looked sort of relaxed, except for holding himself up at that weird angle.

It was tiring for Sunstreaker to keep holding his arms up so awkwardly, he told himself. It wasn't like he was being weird. He was just getting them out of the way. Moving slowly, Sunstreaker slipped an arm behind the mech's helm. Not to support him or anything, even if doing so did ease the uncertainty fluttering in his tanks.

The mech settled into his arm with a content sigh.

Resolutely, Sunstreaker glared at the wall to his left. An unwelcome warmth seeped through his system. Each soft suck seemed to pull the stress from his frame. The flat of the mech's tongue ran along the underside of his nub, sending tingles up Sunstreaker's back strut.

It wasn't nice, he lied to himself. It was weird.

The first pouch drained to a trickle. Without being prompted, the mech released the nub and vented softly. The cool air on the wet tip made Sunstreaker shiver.

"I'll uh. Just. Let me–" Sluggishly, the mech shifted up to lay further on Sunstreaker's lap. He settled into the cradling arm offered and nuzzled the next pouch.

It was embarrassing. The way his frame reacted when the mech's mouth closed over his nub was so embarrassing. The mech's actions were surprisingly innocent for such a lewd act.

Primus to the Pits, Sunstreaker could feel embarrassing heat growing in his cheeks.

The mech paused for a breath. He held Sunstreaker's nub lightly with his denta, panting warm air against the leaking pouch. Sunstreaker inhaled sharply and glared at the wall.

He could feel the fluid in his lines cycle faster. The big Con had no issue fueling from both pouches. If anything, he seemed even hungrier the way he suckled at the second. If anything, it almost seemed as though he was afraid this would be taken away before he could get his fill.

If he kept up the pace, Sunstreaker would run dry in no time. For some reason, that's seemed...wrong.

Hesitantly, Sunstreaker splayed his hand over the mech's chest. His EM field pulsed a gentle, wordless coax to slow down. The carrier was here. He wasn't going anywhere.

A shiver wracked the the mech's frame. He sighed through his vents and slowed his pace. Whatever spell had the mech in such a hurry dissipated instantly.

It was strange, but Sunstreaker could actually feel the Con's field untangling as the time stretched. There was something nice about it. A pleasant warmth radiated from his chest. It was...nice?

By the time the second pouch drained to a trickle, the mech didn't seem as willing to let go as he did for the first. He moved to lean up, but Sunstreaker stopped him with a grip on his shoulders. He stared up in dazed confusion.

"I need to cycle out some reserves," Sunstreaker explained, not looking at him. "It'll take a minute."

"Oh. Okay," the mech murmured, laying back. Sunstreaker distracted himself by queuing up the cycle to refill his pouches. He neatly missed the quiet thanks offered.

The pouches filled again, draining Sunstreaker of his enriched reserves. He didn't lie about needing to cycle them, but he didn't need to do it right then and there. It just didn't feel right ending whatever this was so quickly.

Lips cupped his nub, warm and moist. The suction pulled the pouch in a way that eased his spark. A big hand reached up to gently knead the waiting pouch. Every swipe of that glossa sent tingles up his back. The pleasant warmth in his belly burned a little hotter.

Maybe it was the warm, fuzzy field pulsing gratitude against his own that made him do it. Maybe he liked the feeling of nursing, even if the "sparkling" in need was overgrown. Maybe it was just a bit of a turn on.

Whatever the reason, nursing relaxed his frame and let his mind's edges lose a bit of its painful sharpness.

Sunstreaker nodded off in the warm, tender quiet. For once, he didn't have nightmares of red opticked monsters or blue optics flickering offline in the dark. He was warm and safe in an empty abyss.

It was some time later when he was lightly nudged awake. He was greeted to the sheepish grin of the Con crouched next to him. Sunstreaker startled at how late it was.

"Guess we both were a little tired," the mech said, scratching his helm. "Thanks for uh. Everything."

Sunstreaker closed his chest plating. The mech got up and scribbled on the notepad. "Here's my line. Let me know if you're ever selling again." He fiddled with the pen. "It's uh. Good. I'd absolutely buy again if you're ever selling."

Sunstreaker's face glowed with embarrassment, but he tried to play it off. "Yeah, well. Keep your slagging promise." No one better find out about it, especially because Sunstreaker found out that he liked it too. "If you do, then, maybe."

The Con gave a mock salute. "Promise!" And with that, he slipped out into the quiet of the night cycle.

The apartment felt oddly warm. The temperature read the same, but Sunstreaker's core felt more comfortable than before. He hugged the slight distend in his abdominal plating. The little one growing in him was too small to "talk" back to his happy field, but he could feel its consciousness stir. It was happy, too.


End file.
